


Fires Burning

by DearLazerBunny



Series: The Witling and the Trickster [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Jotunn Loki (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-29 23:47:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21418699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DearLazerBunny/pseuds/DearLazerBunny
Summary: You’re dragged before the king of Joutunheim, amongst ice and snow and inexplicably, fire.Featuring Jotun Loki, complete with horns ;D
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Series: The Witling and the Trickster [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1544092
Comments: 16
Kudos: 86





	Fires Burning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [1V1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1V1/gifts).

> Written for 1V1, who won a little challenge i made in Lie to Me. Hope you enjoy darling!

“What. The. _Fuck_.”

You can barely get out your curses between viciously chattering teeth, and though you keep using what little strength you have left to twist and tug, the- _things_, dragging you along with them have an iron grip around your wrists. You’ve stopped kicking in favor of letting your feet be dead weight, but they just haul you through mounds of wet white snow like you weigh nothing. Even worse, the cold is slowly sinking into your bones, turning your fingers blue and lips numb. Everything you can see- the ground, the landscape, even the flurries falling from the sky- is ice and snow. It’s a winter wonderland, except it has teeth sharper than it’s razor-thin wind and it’s coming for your throat. 

That is, if these monsters don’t break it first. 

Monsters? Giants? You don’t know what to call them- these creatures that kidnapped you, at least twice your height and with pale skin covered in some sort of swirling runes that seem to shift in the light. The temperature doesn’t seem to bother them a bit. They wear fur- though not from any type of animal you’ve ever seen- but in configurations of ragged-cut skirts and thin vests that would offer little protection from the weather. 

Unfortunately they haven’t offered _you_ any of those furs, and so as they drag you to your impending doom your sweatshirt gets crystallized with snowflakes and your jeans rip open and crust to your legs. By the time you get to a massive set of double doors carved of pale ice and petrified wood, you’re afraid you’ll die of hypothermia before the giants have their turn. 

“Quiet.” The one on the left of you grunts out the order in a gruff voice, peeved by your outburst. “Pesky little thing.”

“I swear to god-” he yanks on you harder, dragging you down a grand hallway. “I don’t know what you want with me but if you’ll just-”

Your words die in your throat. The end of the corridor gives way to some sort of throne room filled with even more creatures like your captors, gathered around a dias at the far end. The walls are carved with a language, maybe, one you can’t recognize, and there are actually _fires_ dancing in alcoves inlaid in the walls and in the floor. You can feel the heat on your face- it burns, causing a few tears to streak down your cheeks- but none of the surrounding area seems to melt. There’s a sense of magic about the place, something ancient and strange, but you’re more preoccupied with both the relief of warmth and also the man staring at you from the far end of the room.

Because he is a man- at least, moreso than any of the other creatures you see. He’s tall, but only for a human, and his skin is more porcelain rather than stark white. Blue runes highlight sharp cheekbones and glittering, curious green eyes; he’s lither than the hulks keeping you captive, but you have a feeling he’s just as- or even more- dangerous.

You’re pulled through the room and deposited at his feet- without anything supporting you, your legs slack and you barely catch yourself before falling flat on your face. All is quiet except for the roaring flames. They cast shadows that stretch through the hall and fill your ears with strange whispers. 

“What have you brought me?” The man- some sort of king, based on the wreath of wood and crystals circling his head and set amongst small, lethal looking horns peeking though his ink black hair. He’s beautiful, in some ethereal, fantastical way- you can’t look away. It’s a fever dream come to life right in front of you, fearsome appearance juxtaposed by a honey-smooth voice. 

He notices you looking, and the corner of his lips tilt into a smirk. You force your gaze elsewhere. 

“We found her in the wastelands, Lord. A strange creature.” You huff at that- you’re the strange one?- and receive a kick to the ribs for your trouble. “We thought it might make a suitable sacrifice.”

“Sacrifice?” You find your voice unexpectedly, even if it’s an octave higher than normal. “What the _hell_ are you talking about?”

“Oh,” the other giant says belatedly. “It talks, too.”

“I can see that.” The Lord’s tone is amused. He descends the steps from his throne and lowers himself so he can tuck a hand under your chin and force it upwards to meet his face. His fingers are soft, but cold. “A mortal. Fascinating.”

You want to spit in his face- or maybe slap him- but his gaze, those _eyes_, keep you glued to where you are. 

“Is it acceptable, my King?”

“Mmm.” He circles you slowly, sizing you up. “You might have prevented her from freezing to death. She’s hardly useful like that.”

“Our apologies, Lord.” A heavy fur is immediately draped around your shoulders, nearly knocking you flat. Wonderful. It _is_ warm though, so you try to count your blessings and keep your mouth shut. For the moment. 

They talk amongst themselves for a while longer, lapsing in and out of a guttural language you can’t make heads or tails of. The carvings on the wall remind you of something from old mythology, depicting gods and heroes and monsters. “What are you,” you murmur, entranced by the murals, not realizing you’ve spoken aloud. 

“I am Loki.” His name is accompanied by a wolffish grin and a click of sharp teeth. “King of this realm. And what shall I call you, my pet?”

“My name is Y/N,” you say harshly, “and I’m no one’s pet.” 

“So ornery.” Fingers whose touch are becoming rapidly familiar comb through your mussed hair. “How refreshing.”

“Get away from me,” you spit out, recoiling from his caress. 

“Believe me, I have no wish to harm you.” His voice softens, and you almost believe him. Almost. “Ask a question- any question, and I shall answer truthfully. A sign of good will, as you call it.”

_Where am I. What are you going to do with me. How do I get home. Can I have something to eat. Are you going to kill me. Will the frostbite kill me first. Why do I find you beautiful, when I should find you terrifying._ “The fires. They- they’re burning, but the ice doesn’t melt. How-?”

King Loki laughs, but not derisively- it’s actually quite a pretty sound, low and smooth. You almost want to make him laugh again. “A little mortal wanders her way into the realm of Joutenheim, surrounded by foreign creatures and foreign names- and she wants to know how our fires burn?” He’s almost gleeful. “Oh, I think I quite like you, my dear.”

“Bite me.” You say it as viciously as you can, imagining you could snap his neck with the force of it. 

Loki only smiles. It sends a shiver down your spine, with something like fear and curiosity and anticipation. “All in good time, love. All in good time.”


End file.
